


Mix and Mash with a Batarang

by Titans_R_Us



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF everyone, Batfamily Feels, I just need good batfamily stuff okay, Multi, Mutual Pining, No I don't have a plan, No I don't know what I'm doing, Pining Jason, batfamily fluff, mixed drabbles, so fluffy you will die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6175228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titans_R_Us/pseuds/Titans_R_Us
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various Drabbles I've posted on tumblr that I'm transferring here too.  Some are original and some come from other people's universes that I've asked nicely to play with.  </p><p>1. Everyone Loves Damian: Gen, Batfamily<br/>2. When Pretty Bird is Sick: Older!Damian/Fem!Tim<br/>3. Surviving the Grind: Gen, Damian & Tim<br/>4. TLC for Stubborn Birds: Mostly Gen with Tim, Dick and Jason<br/>5. For Timdrakeweek Childhood/Adulthood DamiTim<br/>6. No One Pines Better Than A BlueJay: Soft Pining Jason with JayTim</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everyone Loves Damian

**Author's Note:**

> This was for fishfingersandjellybabies when they were having a crappy day. Their fun stuff is here: http://fishfingersandjellybabies.tumblr.com/

**Damian is not happy.**

“Aw…you look like a baby Penguin, Dami!”

“Silence, Grayson.”

“Now, Dick don’t say that.  We don’t need to give our criminal friend any recruiting ideas.” 

Damian hates the tone of Drake’s voice, at least _The Penguin would keep his hands to himself_ and stop cooing over his frozen appendages every _millisecond._ If Grayson touches his red nose _one more time,_ Damian has every right to bite.

Damian has prepared for every situation from blistering heat to tundra cold.  But the keyword is **prepared**.   He wasn’t used to the freakish blizzards that shift out of nowhere that his ‘brothers’ were accustomed to.  He had raised his eyebrows to their multiple layers when he finally agreed to this outing, yet then it was a lovely 50 degrees…However they shouldn’t mock him for his ignorance.  Is not age supposed to bring maturity? 

“Oh no, we forgot the last part.” Dick pulls **another scarf** from deep in the abyss of his jacket for a lousily attempt to strangle Damian.  A mere toddler or Drake could to better than that.  “Dami, strangling is **not** part of the care package.”  Hmpf, He begs to differ.  

He did not expect to be wrapped in a miscellany of clothing that each former robin shed for his sake.  He can withstand colder temperature than this.  

Damian did not ask to be wrapped in Todd’s smelly jacket before he departed to retrieve some kind of hot, greasy street food.   

Nor did he request to be bombarded by Drake’s hat and gloves, though secretly he is pleased with how small and fragile the older teenager’s hands are.  He always knew that Drake was delicately frail.  

To the least, he could do without Grayson’s arm around his shoulder for _body heat_ or excessive rubbing of his limbs and hands to warm him up.  So far he’s been unable to flee his tyrannical clutches and his mentor seems somehow immune to sharp elbows.  It’s disgusting and unfortunate.  

With a harsh _clank_ , Todd announces his arrival on the tin roof they’ve claimed for themselves.   “Hey, finally got the good grub and even a little treat for Demon Brat.  Wouldn’t want the little shit to get frostbite, huh?”  _  
_

Damian snorts, “As if my training would allow it.  You’re hopelessly unnecessary.”  But he takes the offered hot chocolate begrudgingly and drinks deep.  It’s sweet and fries him from the inside.  So now Damian is sweaty, has a scalded tongue and must listen to the loud jabs and remarks from the family he cannot escape.

**Damian is wretchedly miserable.**

_And if Drake reveals his lie, he’ll punch him in the throat._


	2. When Pretty Bird is Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is inspired by Syntactition’s The Princess in the Empty Castle fic where always-a-girl-Tim grows up with the Batfamily in an medieval setting. For more of that universe, check out their masterlist at http://syntactition.tumblr.com/post/124375714871/dc-fic-masterlist for more goodies.

“Darling?” 

Damian looks up from his ministrations, “Yes, Beloved?”

“Don’t you think this is a tad…excessive?” Timothea appreciates the effort, she really does, but that’s the fifth blanket he’s layered on her.  

All the Wayne family overreacted to her illness and her attempts to establish that she is not a dying flower have been in vain.  Richard arranged hours upon hours of entertainment, Jason rode to several cities for the best medication, Alfred keeps stuffing her silly and Bruce somehow thinks he can glare the sickness out of her.   But Damain is the worst.  It’s just a mild bug of sorts.  Timothea’s sure she’ll shake off the chills and fever in a day or two.  None of them believe her.  

“For your comfort, nothing is excessive.”  He leans over and Timothea is sure Damian’s going for a kiss, but he just reaches to adjust her head on the pillow.  On the mountain of cushions, Timothea believes he’s ransacked the entire manor. She even sees the embroidered ones from the drawing room.  Alfred is not going to be pleased.

“If you keep stacking the blankets like that, I’m not going to be able to move.”  He smiles serenely and puts **two more** quilts over her.  

“Ah, you’re stuck here forever.  And to think all I needed was down feathers and fleece.” He teases lightly, but Timothea can detect a little seriousness in the expression as well.

A few weeks ago, she met his grandfather for first time.  It did not go well.  Or it went far too well if you’re Ra’s al Ghul.  That _lech._  

Timonthea did not think her first marriage proposal could happen within a two-hour acquaintance. Then again she suspects that Ra’s simply meant to vex the entire Wayne Household since it was only a **_two-hour acquaintance._** Yet so far, she’s been unable to convince her family otherwise.  She’s not to leave the house unescorted, what a wretched joke ** _._**

“Come here.” She beckons with her head as she struggles to get an arm free without jostling Damian’s work.

“Hmmm?” He sits on the bed and Timothea reaches for his hand.  Gently, softly she presses a kiss to his fingers, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No.”  He stretches beside her and pulls her free hand to his face. “ No, I suppose you’re not.”  Then he takes his prize from her lips and hopes they’re sick for weeks.  

It’s not often Timothea allows him to spoil her rotten.  

_He prays it lasts._


	3. Surviving the Grind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I wanted Damian and Tim to work together against a common enemy and bond over it.

“Why do we not kill again?”

“Because your Father developed his whole philosophy around the idea that giving repeated vicious beatings is a lot more satisfying that a quick bloody solution.”

“Surely we could take a leaf from Jason’s book.”  A rustle of papers.  Oh the forms must be breeding.  They’ve claimed territory over half the dark oaken monster of a desk.

“Jason still gets to play the pulled-from-the-pit mental illness card.  We don’t quite have that excuse.”  Tim swears the PR department is out to get him.  Just because he’s the most reliable public face of the company doesn’t mean they should pencil in three conferences for Tim this week. 

“…Why Drake, I had no idea that you haven’t been diagnosed yet.  Perhaps it’s not too late to get you your proper services.”

“Shut it, Damian.  You would be a psychologist’s dream come true.  They could make millions from your case study.”

Damian snorts indignantly, “The only aliment I’m suffering from is that we’re almost out of coffee.” 

Tim looks over at the sacred mug he’s been nursing and suppresses a whimper.  Damian is right.  The precious liquid that has kept this unholy truce going for…days is running low. 

“Oh, stop that.  You are neither Dick nor Ace with those eyes.  The espresso machine is barely two meters from us.”  Damian puts the legal paperwork he’s been mulling over down and saunters to get what they need.  “Black?”

“As black as my soul.”

“Or as black as the void in your head.”  But he refills their mugs and both sigh at the first taste of fresh coffee.  With coffee anything is possible, even burying a feud among robins. 

A common enemy helps too.  _Luthor will pay._  

Tim had gotten a frantic call from Tam last week outlining the company’s crisis.  Somehow Luthor Corps had placed Wayne Industries in a bind and stocks had plummeted.  Tim had to suck it up and don a different suit to fix things up…but it was more difficult than expected.  Luthor had exploited their health policy.Tim had never wanted to spray-paint a baldhead before _but now it’s on his bucket list._

And whenever Tim has trouble, you can count on Damian to rub it in.

Or at least that’s what Tim thought.  To be fair the preteen did come to mock, but the dark circles under Tim’s eyes cut his scorn down to 30 minutes.  And then he didn’t leave. 

Damian stayed. 

Something that Tim is both horrified and grateful for.  Snarking back and forth has kept their minds agile.  Damian has had some kind of experience with legal matters and how to charm the board thanks to Talia.  Now, with their combined cranky might, the Luthor problem has been cracked and stocks have rose to the blue sky once again.

All that’s left is some troublesome financial ends that resist being tied. 

The door creaks open and both snap their heads towards it.  “Well, aren’t you two freaking adorable.  Why with those baggy blue eyes, people could actually mistake you for **brothers.** ”  The two _responsible_ robins snarl at a gleeful Dick, and Tim casually passes a paperweight to Damian to throw.

“No, no, no.  No projectiles at the messenger. I bring good tidings and food.  Alfred’s food.”

Damian looks over to Tim and they nod in agreement.  Only Alfred’s food can spare this lazy idiot who didn’t help in the number crunch and abandoned them to patrol freely in the night skies for a week.  Not that they’re bitter.  _Not at all._   But then again Alfred’s Food solves disputes, lures wayward family members (Jason) and one day will achieve world peace. 

They break bread and feast half-listening to Dick happily chirping about their newly found brotherhood.

Tim and Damian are too busy thinking of their plan.  There’s no world record for toilet papering but Luthor Tower is a tempting prospect. 

**And they plan to conquer.**


	4. TLC for Stubborn Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is injured and Dick and Jason are determined to take care of him. No matter what.

They’re milking this for all it’s worth and Tim can’t even revolt because they took his crutches….and hid them.

It’s not fair.

“Here Timmers, open wide!” Dick coos and shoves a spoon in his face, “You need to eat and honestly do you want Alfred’s hard work to go to waste?”

“I can feed myself. “ Tim makes a grab for the spoon that Dick deftly avoids. “I’m not a kid, Dick. GIVE ME THE STUPID SPOON!”

“Nuh-uh, your right arm is out of commission too. Plus, I’ve _always_ wanted to do this for someone, let me have this Tim. “ Dick wheedles, “Come on, pretty please? _I need this_.”

“I can still move it mostly, you know, it’s just a dislocated elbow. “ Dick does not look impressed, “And besides _I have a perfectly working left arm_.”

“Jassooon!” Dick whines to the kitchen, “Tim won’t let me feed him!”

“Stop yowling at me. Just count your blessings that he can’t move on that foot.” Jason calls back and Tim glares at the traitorous body part.

At least he’s in the perch. Tim had to play **hardball** with Bruce and Damian to stay home and not be whisked to the manor never to be seen again unless Alfred gave his approval. Which would be _never_. Because Alfred is frightening. Now that Tim thinks about it, he owes Dick a punch for ratting him out on the coms.

It’s not even a big deal.

Honestly.

So he landed wrong when someone shot his line, so what? So Clayface was a little too enthusiastic at slamming him into a wall, so what? A swollen purple ankle and a barely mangled arm is practically a love tap in their business.

Now if Tim could just convince these two fruitcakes to _go away and leave him alone._ Giving him peace and quiet, then who knows? Maybe he’ll even start working on the sleep debt that everyone’s been nagging him about.

Unfortunately, at this point getting Dick and Jason out of the apartment seems very unlikely.

Tim punches Dick anyway.

_“Ouch, Tim!_ But he’s going to staaaaarrrvve at this point.” Dick tries to dodge, but is unsuccessful. “Ow. Okay, okay, I’m sorry stop hitting me.” It’s petty, but Tim is pleased at the way Dick rubs his shoulder. Yeah, arm in a ridiculous sling and he still gots it.

“Well, if Babybird’s giving you too much trouble, we could do what momma birds do…” Jason drawls, approaching the couch with painkillers and water. “And feed him mouth-to-mouth?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and Dick suddenly looks chipper.

Tim hates his stupid pale complexion. Hates his retarded blush and if Jason doesn’t quit it he’s going to grind that jerk’s face in the cushions until he stops leering at him.

“Fine. Spoon-feed me you nerds,” Tim hears a disappointed groan and tries not to think too long on that. “What do you want be to say? _Ahh_?”

“Ahhh!” Dick echoes and gently forces Alfred’s soup down Tim’s throat. Tim getting redder with each spoonful though Jason sitting down, boxing him against Dick, doesn’t help at all. They make sure Tim eats the whole bowl and pressure him to finish with water and meds.

“Now, doesn’t that feel better? All full and comfy?” Dick runs his fingers through Tim’s hair and Tim feels sleepy…dang it Alfred. Drugs are not always the answer.

“I think it’s time to put Babybird to bed.” Jason softly says and puts an arm under Tim’s shoulders and knees. He stands and it’s like Tim doesn’t weigh over 125 pounds or anything. “Could you put the dishes away, Dick?”

“This isn’t necessary. Really. Just leave me on the couch” Tim mutters.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Or just _ignore_ me, that works too. Wow, I hate you guys.”

 “Nah, you love us.” Jason carefully sets Tim on the bed and helps him dress for the night. Despite Tim’s passive-aggressive protests of course.   “Geez Tim, do you always give people who help you a hard time?”

“It’s what I live for. Don’t take this away from me.”

“Nope. No can do Tim.” Dick’s back and practically morphs into the human octopus. He manhandles Tim on the bed until he’s satisfied that Tim’s in the most comfortable position.   Which apparently is Dick spooning him. _Agrh,_ he fits perfect and snug under Nightwing's chin. What is his life? The bed sinks and Tim jerks when Jason also joins them. Facing the pair, he wraps one hand over Tim’s hip finishing the vigilante sandwich.

Suddenly the light bulb goes on. It must have been broken from the soup, drugs and abrupt cuddling.

“Wait. You’re staying _here_?”

Dick chuckles deeply right in his ear, “You just figured that out?”

“Yes, Babe,” Jason leans over to press his forehead against Tim’s. “Now go to sleep.”

_“Wait, **what?”**_

“Go to sleep Tim.” Someone breathes.

And Tim, completely against his will, **does**.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a birthday present for the lovely Wintersnight or Iphoenixrising if you're on Tumblr. It was also very fun to write. :D


	5. For Timdrakeweek Childhood/Adulthood DamiTim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damian outgrows Tim. It is cute and amusing to all...except for Tim.

Damian outgrew Tim in his fifteenth year.

In that summer to be precise. Though the sun baked the concrete to the point that everyone stayed inside _to not fry to death._..it had been a very dark summer for Tim.

Damian hadn’t been subtle at all. Anytime Tim stopped by the manor for a chemical analysis, a briefing from B or retrieve a casefile the current robin would stand side by side next to Tim. Look, compare and _smirk_. In June the brat was about to the bridge of his nose, by August…he was a hair taller.

“A centimeter is more than a hair I believe, Drake.”

“It’s the width of your pinky, now stop gloating.” With a hand, he pushes Damian back slightly. The teen’s been bad with personal space lately. Crowding him against walls before a mission just to prove heights is rude, dude. It’s almost as if the assassin is relishing the fact that now he can look down on Tim _physically_ as well as emotionally.

“I’m just admiring my new perspective. This angle is surprisingly pleasing to me.” _See_. Tim doesn’t even know why he’s pissed. He should have been resigned the moment the tiny hell child announced Bruce was his father.

Still the fact itches. “Look, I know oxygen is thinner up there, but could you try not to lose too many brain cells?”

“I’ll try, though the weather up here is quite lovely.” _Oh Alfred’s Apple Pie,_ Damians learned puns. Now Tim has to murder Dick. Especially when the smile Damian gives has a touch of fang. “Now come along, father needs us.”

The boy, _‘cause height difference or not that’s what he is,_ turns away dramatically after beckoning Tim to follow him.

“Worst. Summer. Ever.”

Dick of course makes it worse, “Who’s my shortest adorable brother?” He coos obnoxiously. Like one of those fat women making baby noises at their pet dog. His palms squish either side of Tim’s face and Tim swears to all higher powers that if Dick tries to rub their noses together he’s gonna bite him. “ _You are!_ You’re officially the shortest ruthless vigilante in the family now. I should twitter about this… _to everyone.”_

“If you don’t get your hands off me right now, I’m going to string you in your underwear somewhere for Bab’s viewing pleasure again.”

Dick’s fingers fly off his face as if it’s scalding. “Awwwwww, you don’t have to get that vicious Timmy.”

“I’m always this vicious, _you dick._ One day my pain will be yours and on that day I’ll will  remember this moment and _you will be sorry.”_ Tim promises with spite.

Dick coyly presses a hand over his heart, “Oh Timmy, my darling petite– _omph_ ,” Dick could dodge the first strike to his thorax, but not the second. But still he wheezes out, “That would _never_ happen!”

* * *

 It happens.

“How could this happen?” Tim vindictively snickers at Dick’s cry when Damian hits seventeen. A month away for a mission and now he’s reduced to whining that Damian’s not the right size to cuddle anymore. "He doesn’t fit under my chin anymore.” He sobs, tucking Tim under said chin tighter as Tim repeatedly attacks his kidneys. “And he keeps dragging me along if I hug him from behind. Like my weight doesn’t even matter!”

“Ha. Serves you right.” Tim twists around to slap his hands on Dick’s face, “Who’s the **second** shortest vigilante in the family now? It’s you, Dick. _It’s you.”_

“You’re so meeeeeeeeeean.” Dick wiggles his head closer until their noses smash together, “What did I ever do to get brothers as cruel as you?”

“It’s in your namesake, Dick.” Tim starts struggling in earnest to get away from the clingy hero. He is not a stuffed animal and would very much appreciate if his ‘siblings’ treated him less so. “Or it’s karma. Take your pick.”

Dick grumbles and childishly cheats by using his legs to make the hold more difficult.

Yet as Tim contemplates his fate on the floor in this horrid octopus grip he actually has to admit…Damian has seemed to mellow out?

* * *

 “Did you forget who’s the senior vigilante here? Just because you inherited B’s monstrous height doesn’t mean you’re any less of a brat Damian.”

Damian taunting sweeps his arm towards the entrance, “My apologies, _age before beauty,_ then again with your delicate bone structure perhaps you would account for both.”

Tim freezes. Is Damian… _flirting_ with him? He shakes his head, nah. Headgames must be another thing the boy’s gained from his crazy family tree.  Lately, or not lately, it’s been a gradual thing really, Damian and Tim have done more missions together.

“For efficiency sake.” Damina justifies. As the two of them all a frightening team when they apply their talents together.

Tim skill in logic and ability to place the clues in interesting ways, Damian’s assassin training that makes him a martial arts vistoso. Few enemies can best them when they fight together.

But something’s off. Tim can’t nail down the thought with proof yet but…

“Timothy?” He jerks towards at Damian. “Timothy it is time we made our way to the burrows.”

“Timothy? What happened to Drake?”

Oh my dear. It that a slight blush Tim recognizes on Damian’s face? “I have realized that it might be considered rude to refer to you in that manner. After all, you do not call me Al Ghul, do you?”

This is true. “I suppose.”

But later, Tim realizes much later to his faulty skills as a detective, Damian still says Grayson, Todd and Brown with the other members of the family.

Like  “Timothy, I’ve brought us some rations. Just because we are reduced to wait for this scum to leave his pithole does not mean we must do it in discomfort.” It’s just a sandwich. But it’s one from one of Tim’s favorite cafes. Tim doesn’t know what to think of that.

Damian’s grown into his father’s monstrous bulk. Still shy of B’s height and an inch or two below Jason yet still informidable. His wide shoulders and dark tan skin have earned him the title, “Sheik” by various gossip magazines.

Not that Tim really pays attention to that sort of stuff.

Nor doesn’t he pretend not to know of how they dub them, “Fire and Ice.” whenever they endure an event together.

* * *

 “What’s going on?” Tim asks bemused. Damian and Kon stand off in the commons area. Kon with his arms crossed in front of his chest, while Damian casually tosses a batarang up and down with one hand. Kon is definitely taller, but there’s something deadly in Damian’s stance. Like a snake coiled to strike.

“Pissing contest.” Cassie says  gleefully, grabbing a fist of popcorn before shoving the bag at Tim. “They’ve been at it for 14 minutes now and it’s glorious.”

Suck, diplomacy with the Titans and Dami has always been iffy. Once you attack their ‘bird’ you tend to go on their people-okay-to-drown-at-lunch list. It’s a big list. Garth was excited to announce that Tim’s list was currently the largest.

“Why didn’t anyone get me?”

"Because it’s about you.” Bart hooks his elbow through Tim’s and supports him, _which is completely unnecessary,_ to limp and slouch on the couch. “The dude just showed up demanding to see you, that Bats needs your mad skills with forensics and crap but Kon thinks, it’d be nice if you were off crutches before getting broken again you know?”

“I’m not broken.”

“Your leg begs to differ.” Raven materializes beside him from the shadows. She really should teach Tim how to do that, he’s just saying. Raven digs into the popcorn bag still in Tim’s possession to get a satisfying crunch. “If I recall correctly, you shouldn’t even be out of bed.”

Damian whips his head to their direction, “Timothy is this true?

Crap. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Says the idiot whose tibia is in **three** pieces.” Kon grumbles straightening his back to make himself even more imposing to the intruder, but Damian’s eyes are glued on a different target. He drops the posturing act to walk to Tim and falls to a knee in front of him. Carefully, he lifts the neon pink cast, _‘cause real men wear pink,_ that’s littered with inappropriate comments from his team.

“Yes, that does seem to fit into the category of a ‘big deal’ Timothy.” He chides running his fingers over the names on Tim’s calf.

Tim bristles. “ _It does not._ Besides, even benched, _grown-up vigilante here_ , I can still do casefiles and computer work just fine, what does B need?”

“Hmmm, my father needs another to look over a heist note the Riddler is fond of making. Yet perhaps I should turn to different source.” Damian looks around and fishes for a marker on the coffee table. He gently lifts the limb to rest on his thigh, begins to write.  “Maybe one that will allow himself to heal properly.”

“Damian. Al Ghul. Wayne.” Where’s his crutches? He’s going to beat this twerp over the head. Give him something else that’s broken to worry about. Bart buries his face into Tim’s shoulder to muffle his snickers. It doesn’t do much. 

Dami finishes adding to the mess of ink before nodding to himself. “I’ve decided. I’ll give you the datapad after you gain an hour of rest.” He says staring up at Tim without compromise.

“What? _No_.”

“Or I’ll put Alfred on the com and inform him of your unfortunate situation.”

_“Are you threatening me?”_

“Only if you consider it to be so.” Why yes Tim considers it to be so. Motherhen Alfred is a terrible nightmare to behold. No one can escape his clutches once he knows a Bat is harmed, doesn’t matter how old you are or where you are, _he will find you._ He will drown you in blankets, food and sedatives. _And he has full access to the Tower._ Garth is very fond of his vegetarian alfredo pizza.

“He’s got you there, Red.” Kon calls out, hands on his hips with a smug expression. The tension that once electrified the room is gone, but Tim almost misses it. Then maybe everyone in the room would stop ganging up on him.

“Do we agree or disagree?” Damian presses.

“We agree that this is shameless blackmail and _I hate you_.” Tim hisses out.

Damian’s voice turns warm and satisfied. “Good. Now let’s get you back into bed.”  He then worms his hands under Tim’s knees and lower back and lifts. Like Tim weighs nothing at all.

“I have crutches. _Like right there._ Cassie get my crutches.”

“Nope. Red’s room is on the top floor, by the way.” She has a hand pressed to her mouth, grinning like a loon. As if the best sight she’s seen all day is Tim carried like a princess. Then where’s his tiara, dammit?

“Thank you.” Damian gives a curt bob of his head and turns to go with the fussy man. The last thing the team sees is the elegant black scrawl on their Rob’s cast.

_Please protect this foolish treasure - Damian_

Yeah, maybe the Titans can trust their bird in these hands….just maybe.

* * *

 It all comes to a head during a mission, they almost get caught in an explosion. Why can’t clowns stay away from fire? And Damian had tackled him to the ground and covered him against the flare of heat that licked their backs.

In the rubble, Damian lifts himself to stop crushing the smaller man. Their faces are close, Tim notes with his heart in his throat. They breath the same air and Damian’s eyes flicker to his lips. To the inch barely separating them, all he’d would have to do is drop his head…just a little for them to meet.

“Damian?” The boy, no man in question drags his gaze to meet Tim’s stare.

“Tell me to stop.” And slowly, achingly, he closes the distance between them. Tim can’t move. Doesn’t dare to as Damian kisses him gently. Almost excruciatingly so. It’s a barely a press, so hesitant though it lasts for several long seconds…or years, Tim can’t tell. Damian doesn’t close his eyes the entire time and Tim is hypnotized, can’t break the hold of that connection even when Damian reluctantly pulls back.

His brow furrows and it’s a ridiculously adorable look on the oversized teen. “You did not tell me to stop.” He says confused.

“I didn’t tell you stop period.” That earns Tim a cracked smile. It’s so cute, Tim can’t help but lean up to peck him square on the mouth. When Damian jerks to the side in surprise, He snorts and breaks into laughter.

His arms slowly squeezed around Tim’s waist, as if in disbelief that he was there in Damian’s lap. It was tentative, but definitely a conscious action.  Then reluctantly Damian unraveled his grip and cradled Tim’s hips in his palms. The fire blazed from yards away but the heat that races up Tim’s spine isn’t coming from the destruction. Then with barely an effort he lifted Tim straight up to place him back on his feet.

It’s casual, smooth and Tim hates to admit it…impressive.

“Are you alright, Timothy?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“A little singed, nothing more.”

“Okay, I have to know. Have you flirting been with me this entire time?” Tim asks blunt as a rock.

“Oh good.” Damian ducks his head away from the other vigilante, as if he’s too embarrassed to look at him. “I was becoming concerned that you would never notice my advances.”

A raspy voice buzzes in from the com, “Yeah, we thought the world would end first.”

“Jason if you ruin Dami’s confession, _I will cut you.”_ Dick hisses and Tim decides that the rest of this conversation is better done off grid.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere where there isn’t a raging firestorm or snooping eavesdroppers around.”

“Indeed.” Damian’s agrees warmly and when he wraps his arm gently around Tim, smiling down at him like that? Well, Tim finds that he doesn’t mind the height difference anymore.

Not at all.

 


	6. No One Pines Better Than A BlueJay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason has some soft wishes sometimes...

Jason wants to take Tim dancin’.

Once the thought is in his head, he can’t get it out. It’s like an itch on the nose when the helmet’s on, and like a dumbass, his fingers keep smacking on the headgear to get to it. He’s gotta switch back to dominos so he can scratch off his entire face in peace and sheer happiness again. But yeah, the idea sinks deep into him and loves to pop up at random moments like a sadistic whack-a-mole.

Glass shatters and Jason ducks, so a thug flies pass him instead of nailing him. A figure in black and red lunges through the window and rolls to crouch near Jason. A bo makes a long sweep and another guy screams when his knee gives out.  

“Need a hand?”

Like now. Right now as the new vigilante straightens, his leg whippin’ out and movin’ like that? _He wants to take Tim dancin’._

“Naw, but don’t mind ya crashin’ in. I was just gettin’ bored.” Jason lands an uppercut and punches another goon’s number. It’s just another Friday night with a warehouse Black Mask tried to hide the usual D.G.M aka _drugs, guns and money_ and can’t cha just hear the villain shitting kittens when he hears Red Hood cleaned out another place? Just call him ‘Todd’s Cleaners and Housekeeping,’ the best in business, baby. “It’s not as fun when you can’t put their lights out for good ya know?”

“Liar. You’d miss the bottom of the barrel guys. Who else is going to knock out their teeth and make some Gotham dentist out there very happy? After all, you’re so good at making sure you didn’t miss any of those pearls.”

Jason laughs though the mask and shoots at a light above them. The gang shouts as the warehouse goes dark. “Guess yer right. Somebody’s gotta keep that economy going.”

“And don’t forget about Orthodontists!”

“Never, Baby Bird.”

They fight and _damn_ it’s like poetry. After all Jason had them _reasons_ why he wanted Baby Boy as his Robin even when he was ridin’ the crazy.

The fifteen scumbags scattered about fall one by one like flies as the two mow them down. They weave in and out from each other, and he even gives Red Robin a lift by catchin’ a boot in the cup of his hands to prove that humans really can _fly_. A few criminals try to get smart. Try to take cover by the storage and shoot, but really? Jason gonna be disappointed if they can’t wrap this up in five minutes tops.

But his brain won’t let up. Tim’s cape slides over Jason’s arm, and the Hood is struck again by this wild concept of dancin’. Even as noses are broken and blood splatters over the pavement, it’s on his mind. It’s not that he wants to take Tim to the club either, though the corner of Jason’s tongue slides over his lips over how _tasty_ that would be. A side of the good stuff. The pulse of the beat and the wet slide of sweat on skin. To see how much pale skin he can expose.  

Delicious, but not exactly the flavor he’s in the mood for.

It ain’t like Jason wants to show his moves at those shit Galas either.

Where he’d like to shoot all those shiny chandeliers down. Let them crash and make all attendees prove they’re real boys and girls with a dash of fear and not some made-up paper dolls. Give ‘im a sign that there’s something behind those painted faces and sparkling jewels that Jay prays Seline steal every one of ‘em.

“To your left, Hood!”

Jay obeys and is rewarded when Tim yanks him behind some crate lifting equipment. Tim’s side against his, nice and oh so warm and _damn_ he’s got a lump in his throat. Yeah no, he don’t want to see Tim as the Wayne’s CEO, using slick words as he works people, as he works the floor.  

_Naw_ , _he wants to take him to prom._

Like let ‘im buy that bird a freaking corsage. Show him cheap cellophane decorations hanging from the ceiling and lame music the admin thinks is cool and but only one song in twenty is. Wait a sec, did Babybird even go to senior prom? Jason doesn’t think so, not with the whole ‘B is dead, now everyone freak out on the count of three–huh? He’s not dead? Oh yeah ha...prove it.’ And oh did Tim Freaking Drake-Wayne prove it. So the chances of the younger vigilante sticking around long enough to get asked by a pretty skirt was low…

Jason knows _he_ didn’t get a chance.

Red Robin uses the reflection on the windows left to calculate an opening to rush those that are left. They don’t flinch at the bullets ringing on the metal barely covering their head. But Jay waits until there’s the tell-tale click of a gun, more than one, going empty.

“Now, Baby Boy!”

There’s a loud _“Fuck”_ and groan as Jason rushes to shove a crate that had a douchebag hiding behind it. He’s rougher than he needs to be about it and from the corner of his eye Red Robin tilts his head to the side in question, but Jason can’t help it. He fixates. He didn’t get a chance. Again, he feels like Frankenstein’s creature, the thing that didn’t ask to be brought back. He didn’t ask to be put back together haphazardly with a few stitches and a green fucking pit. Didn’t ask death to chew him up and spit him out to _claw at the ceiling of his grave._ Could do without the haze of anger, the acid coating his mouth at a laugh that _still_ echoes sickly in his ear at the every damn thing he lost. Not just his life, not just his time when he wasn’t fucking done yet as Robin, but all the innocent, stupid things teens go through that Jason will never have.

He punches harder. The last thug collapses unconscious in a puddle at his feet.

“You okay?” Red Robin asks, and Jay can almost imagine the curious look behind the whiteouts.

“...Peachy.”

Tim’s not that much younger than him, three or four years at most, and oh how he imagines that stuff. The cheesy rom-com gag quality stuff that Jason would cut his arm off for. They could have met in school. Fuck you, Jason _liked_ school.

True, coulda done without the snooty snots lookin’ down their noses when Jay was first adopted by B. Them all ruffled ‘cause gutter trash was let into their nice, clean academy, but hey back then, he was on cloud nine _because of the gorgeous library,_ so fuck em. Oh and instead of wreckin’ those sneers with his fists he could do it with his _grades_ and how cool was that?

So here’s a fantasy for ya. He coulda been what? A Junior or Senior when this nerdy, prettyboy freshman catches his eye. Maybe they’d hit it off first thing or gravitate towards each other slowly because Tim’s this sassy, smart shit and oh boy _that’s exactly Jay’s type._ He could’ve worked up the nerve to ask him to that dance. Maybe Baby Bird would say no, maybe he’d say yes. Maybe then they could slow dance. Nothin’ fancy, just mindlessly swayin’ in circles with Tim’s head on his shoulder. To hold him in the low lights for hours, to love the intimacy of breathing together in time with the song.

He wants it.

He wants it bad.

But he has to settle for patrols instead.

“Looks like we’re done.” Red Robin presses a switch on his belt for the police. The signal Jay lovingly calls, ‘Hey we did your fucking job for you again...now get yer asses here to pick up the trash.’ “Sorry, guess it’s a slow night for us after all.”

_Us_. The word tastes sweet. Aw, he should take the gun to his head for the thought. He should be satisfied and count his blessings. One, the man doesn’t hate him for the almost-murdered-you-several-times thing. Two, Baby Bird helps with him on cases, and Jay doesn’t even have to ask. Just has to get to the point of ripping out his hair over a piece of evidence that won’t fucking fit and lo and behold, he gets a call, a knock at his current safehouse like Tim’s a genie or something.

Jay shrugs a shoulder and helps him tie ‘em up. It’s all quick, fast work, and Jason tries to think of ways to make it last. Make their time together stretch. “S’fine, don’t need every night to be an fun Arkham breakout.”

“ _I swear Hood if you jinx us_ , Dick’s even started a board and it’s been over a month or two since the last shenanigans and–”

“It’s what I do best, Baby Boy.” Among other things. There’s an invite, a suggestion on the tip of his tongue. It takes a few swallows before Jay can gruff it out, “Ya know, y’ look like ya could go for a bite…”

“What does that mean?” Red Robin huffs, putting his bo away with a snap. They walk to the front of the warehouse when the sirens in the background gradually get louder and louder.

“That yer too skinny and I could break ya in half.”

“So could a very determined Damian, you’re not special.” Jay notes that Tim didn’t deny the skinny part. He bets if he could get his hands on him, the ribs would be so easy to count.

“I know a place. The food’s good, and they don’t care what ya wear as long as there’s money ta shake.” He digs a thumb into a direction, his heart starting to beat faster because _he’s a loser._

“At this time?”

“Yeah, ya wanna go?”   

He shouldn’t get any hopes up. Just cause he wants to take Tim to a diner he knows, one that he practically grew up in. One where the food is so greasy it’s an instant heart attack at first bite, but you take the second so you can die happy. The blood clots are worth it. Jason even wants to order those lame chocolate sundaes with the loopy straws. They’re mostly whipped cream and plastic cherries, but he’d challenge Tim on who can eat it quicker while their legs entangle under the table booth.

Okay maybe the last part snuck in as another fantasy but _sue_ him, he’s got a whole library of them with Tim’s name on ‘em.

Just try it.

He can hire a lawyer and everything.

The quiet pause between them stretches and Jason stomps on the urge to rock on his heels. Keeps it casual, stickin’ his hands in the pockets of his jacket and tries hard not to loom over the smaller man. Fine, just a little looming. He can smell Tim’s shampoo, and it’s real nice.  

“...Alright.” Are those angels Jay can hear in the background? “But you’re paying.”

“Fine by me. I’ll pay enough just so I can roll ya out. Ya gettin’ the fat y’ need.”

The line earns him a laugh. “No one needs fat, Hood.”

“Look in the mirror and tell me that again.” Because he can, because he’s desperate, he pulls Red Robin in with an arm around his waist, _that fits so perfectly damn it,_ and shoots his grapple gun in the diner’s direction. Tim startles a bit but makes no comment, just braces hands on Jay’s shoulders as the vertigo rushes them.

“Or when I can’t pick ya up so easy.”

At the comment, Tim regains some composure to snark, “Oh, how is that fair? You’re built like brick house, and I’d have to be the size of a whale, Hood.”   

“Don’t worry, Baby Bird, we’ll work on it.”

A snort yet no other retorts follow it. Between skyscrapers, buildings topped with gargoyles they balance and swing all matching in red and black. Tim’s arms have slipped around his neck and they are so close that for moment...Jay can pretend it’s like dancin’.

He hums so quiet that maybe Tim can’t hear it over the wind that races around them.

It’s just a moment.

Just a moment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an excuse for some ridiculous pining Jason. I might do a sequel but I haven't decided yet? Like it ends almost on a painful bittersweet note and it's not bad yet it's different from the other chapters. It's sad. I try not to do sad often and so maybe I'll revisit this story in the future to give them a happier ending...and let them get the slow dance they deserve.


End file.
